


A Conversation Between Men

by flecksofpoppy



Category: Gundam Wing
Genre: Friendship, Gen, Gen Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-18
Updated: 2011-04-18
Packaged: 2017-10-18 07:30:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,951
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/186454
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flecksofpoppy/pseuds/flecksofpoppy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Wufei goes to meet Duo on a recon mission post-war for the Preventers and some ideas are exchanged as they get ready to leave. Pretty much my favorite Wufei/Duo fic I've ever written.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Conversation Between Men

**Author's Note:**

> Completed ca. 2004?

War was an art. Like so much Chinese calligraphy laced together in delicate paint strokes it was burned into his thoughts in red ink, the tips of symbols floating like the tail of some devilish thought. This art was the weaving of thoughts in and out from one another, but it was the stab and the caressing blow of the brush that brought the idea to the world. There was the thinker, and then there was the painter.

Wufei was a painter. The painter himself stood outside a hotel in China, covering himself stoically with a broken black umbrella. Its bones shivered under the heavy downpour, one of which had already cracked and Wufei’s white clothing stuck to him in the warm air. The glow of neon calligraphy above him softened in the rain until it was a dull hue of dark cherry, lighting everything around it with red light. It was an advertisement for the Preventers, the guard for this new world where thinkers kept their thoughts to themselves and bloody paintings never manifested.

Water trickled down the flat planes of his face, but he didn’t move. He looked pensive standing in the rain, motionless, posing like a statue with his bent umbrella. Finally a door opened behind him and he stepped inside as if he had been in mid-stride. The door swallowed his presence quickly and as it shut it was as if he had never been there.

There in the dark was Duo Maxwell’s face, shadowed and damp as he held up a flickering lighter and smiled like a devil. He turned around and motioned for Wufei to follow him up a series of concrete stairwells; the building they were in looked to be abandoned. Small granules of concrete-dust pressed into the soft soles of Wufei’s shoes as he followed Duo who wore heavy work boots, but didn’t make a sound as he flew up the stairs.

As they reached the top in darkness, Duo pushed open a heavy metal door that was rusting and stepped into a small cell that he had obviously been staying in. Set up on the floor was photography equipment, an array of lenses and a half-eaten plate of white rice that had been doused in brown sauce.

“Here you go,” he said, passing over a plain manila envelope to Wufei. It held negatives inside of it. “I know you want to get going, and I’m going to pack up in a second here,” he motioned to the equipment strewn around the room. It looked like he hadn’t left this concrete jungle for at least three days.

“But come here, sit down for a minute,” he offered, taking a seat on the cold floor and crossing his legs. “I haven’t seen you in a while.” He shrugged, retrieving the plate and settling it on his lap, drawing a white plastic fork through the swirls of white, staining it brown as more sauce sunk into the rice.

“I’ve been watching these guys for a few days now,” Duo commented and Wufei sat and picked up a nearby camera. He began to piece it together as Duo spoke. “They don’t look like revolutionaries or terrorists. I can’t actually figure out what they’re opposing.”

“Not even they know what they’re opposing yet,” Wufei replied without looking up, watching with satisfaction as two parts clicked together. Une hadn’t officially briefed anyone on this activity yet. “That’s why we’re watching them, to see if they are going to pose a threat.”

“Always on the look-out for dissenters. Some things will never change,” Duo replied lightly, but Wufei couldn’t figure out if the tone in his voice was amusement or something else. Duo heard the unspoken question as clearly as if Wufei had pointed the tip of his sword at his throat and demanded to know whether or not he was a traitor.

“Don’t get me wrong man, we’re on the same side,” he appeased. “But those kids I’ve been watching. Well, they look a lot like...,” he trailed off, his eyes wide in the darkness as he let his fork sit idly in the rice and his head slumped into one hand. “I think I’ve been in here way too long.” He shook his head and put the plate down on the floor wearily.

He stood suddenly, moving moodily to the window to look out onto the street below and through the rain which had slowed to a drizzle. The gloomy scene still oozed misery and unnerving reflection as Duo’s complexion became drawn and tinged neon pink. He picked up a black hat from the window sill and put it on, tugging it down low over his ears so that the brim hid his face. He had his braid secured down the back of his black outfit, making his unrecognizable from the back.

“I’m not cut out for surveillance,” he finally said, his back still to Wufei as he regarded the dreary outside world. “I think too much when I’m alone. It’s different when you’re alone and imprisoned than when you’re just alone, watching people.”

“Thinking can be dangerous,” Wufei responded lightly. He stood as he spoke, folding his hands behind his back. He moved forward slowly, stopping until he was behind Duo but close enough so that if he craned his neck and looked over the ex-pilot’s shoulder, he could see the street as well. A water drenched cat streaked past suddenly, a flash of white against gray. The cherry-dappled light smoothed itself over the cat’s back as it flew by, and Wufei almost expected the animal to still bear the mark of passing, its white fur stained red.

“Thinking stopped the war,” Duo countered, and Wufei was carried back from his revelry. “It was the thinkers that won.”

“War can neither be won nor lost,” was the patient response, as if this was an exhausted subject for him. “It is as natural a force as the weather, and with a similar temperament.”

“Don’t you have any hope, Wufei?” Duo asked, his shoulders tense. “Hope for peace?”

“I don’t hope,” he replied, “I anticipate.”

Duo made a ‘hmm’ sound, jamming his hands that were curled into fists into this pockets, rubbing the toe of his boot over the floor. He thought for a moment. “Well, either way,” he rubbed a hand across his eyes in a tired gesture, “I could never be a sniper.” He grinned a little at the window pane, then yawned widely.

“We’ll deconstruct this group from the inside out,” Wufei informed him, holding up the envelope full of negatives. “Someone will be going in to infiltrate and break it up with as little incident as possible.”

“And how do you plan to do that?” Duo asked curiously, raising an eyebrow in skepticism which was lost on Wufei since he couldn’t see Duo’s expression.

“By fracturing them down the seams of their relationships,” Wufei replied calmly. “We’ve studied them. They’re too close-knit to last long.”

Duo screwed up his face and turned around to face Wufei. “Wouldn’t that make them more likely to form a stronger alliance?”

“No,” he said, meeting Duo’s gaze fixedly. He didn’t speak for a moment, and then said, “...Someone once told me that the warriors you’ll fight with and fight against aren’t the men you know and they aren’t the men you’ll fight.”

“So it’s pointless to try and fight on the same side as a friend?” Duo asked.

“Not exactly. When you fought, did you know who you were fighting or who was fighting on your side?”

Duo angled his had back to look at the ceiling, clasping his hands behind his head. The hat fell back a little and Wufei could see his jugular exposed, and there was something dangerous about the whiteness of his throat against everything else.

“When I fought,” he said carefully, “all I saw was an enemy and machine combatant.”

“Exactly,” Wufei nodded, “you fought the warrior, not the man.”

He bent as he spoke, beginning to gather up the strewn camera parts and lens apparatus laying on the floor. The scope of a sniper rifle was sitting on the window sill, the remains of what had been the actual gun laid in pieces on the floor. Duo was incapable of remaining inactive for any length of time.

“That wasn’t always the case,” Duo said at the lapse of conversation. Wufei regarded him for a moment, then continued cleaning up the room without an answer. Within a few minutes they were exiting the building, camera equipment hidden in a two convenient knapsacks that made them look like traveling students.

As they made their way through the streets, the rain had slowed. Wufei’s broken black umbrella was hanging from one of the straps of the bag he carried, though they had little need of it now. Puddles had gathered in the worn road. Whether the severe wear and tear was from war or poverty was left up to the passing traveler however, and Wufei didn’t waste his thoughts on it. All around them neon calligraphy blazed strangely amidst the ghastly rain colored world, red, green and occasionally yellow. There were promises of cigarettes, political messages, a few more Preventers ads. Une had deliberately begun an aggressive campaign via banner that made it appear as if they were searching for recruits; in reality, she didn’t want to give anyone a reason to label the Preventers a new secret police force. This prevented new uprisings; in a way, it was almost a socialist mentality. A protective force that the people weren’t afraid of because it was made up of the people.

In reality, it was made up of ex-Oz officials and Gundam pilots. Of course, no one had to know this particular piece of information lest the Preventers wanted coups to start cropping up. The people always seemed like they were tired of fighting, but humanity was like a docile bull. Wave the red flag and the bull grew tired enough of seeing blood that it no longer charged, but in the comfort of peace came forgetfulness, and then before anyone was ready the bull had its horns pointed and was ready to charge all over again.

With both deep in thought, the two comrades rounded a corner and came upon the motorcycle that Wufei had ridden in on. The red and black bike shone in the sun that had started to drop its rays to the ground, drying the world back up.

“There’s a shuttle waiting for us at the space port,” Wufei explained as he climbed into the driver’s seat, boasting a helmet under one arm and revved the bike until it sputtered to a start. Once it roared to life and Wufei moved to put his helmet on, Duo stopped him.

“What happened when you stopped fighting warriors, Wufei?”

For a moment he didn’t answer, but then saw a familiar white cat sitting under a the eve of a roof to escape the rain. It wasn’t red, not yet.

He shook his head a little.

“I learned to kill men,” he shouted over the din of the engine. The helmet was pushed over his head before Duo could reply, and he flipped the visor down over his dark eyes. His black hair was still dripping down the back of his shirt that had finally begun to dry, and Duo made a face as he climbed onto the wet bike behind a wet Wufei.

As they roared away from the red neon lights and concrete room of a resentful voyeur, the city became quiet again. In this quiet, artless world, a white cat’s rain-darkened fur slowly lightened again as it dried in the sun.


End file.
